Born to Black in a Perfect Blue Sky
by ragtime tune
Summary: You've never been a good kid. Not before, not here where the dark shadow of the reformatory creeps over you. Reinhold in second person.


**Here, Beneath My Lungs**, PG-13. Reinhold, Rupert. Snapshots of Reinhold in the reformatory, told in second-person. Title from Smog's "Held".

* * *

You've never been a good kid.

Your uncle's hand is heavy on your shoulder as you walk, the bleak grayness of the building looming ahead of you. Its shadow traps you.

The guard catches your elbow once you get near enough; your uncle drops his hand.

He doesn't say goodbye.

xx

You think the dingy room is empty until a low voice drawls, "You're the new one, huh?" from the cot pressed up against the far wall.

"Yes."

"Who're you, then?"

"Reinhold Kohler."

He sits up, face lit by the glow of a single owl lamp. A shock of blonde hair peeks out from under his uniform cap, the same that you're clutching in your own trembling hands. You're surprised, because you thought this place was for degenerates and criminals (like you), and he looks polished and neat.

That is, until a smile creeps onto his face, lips curling up. His eyes are on you, dark.

You hate people like him; words instead of punches.

"Rupert Fuerst. Pleased to make your acquaintance."

He extends his hand for you to shake.

It's sticky.

xx

You wake up screaming into the blackness of your tiny room for a fortnight.

Your eyes always dart around, searching.

You don't know what you're looking for.

Dieter's being an arrogant fucker, so you hit him.

It feels good, after all these weeks.

Real good.

It still feels good, even when his arm swings back at you. You don't duck.

You never duck.

His fist slams into your face, sliding across your cheek, crashing into your nose.

It isn't the first time it's been broken, the dull thud and the crack and the searing pain.

Still feels good, even when there's the sound of heavystompingpounding footsteps against the concrete and a hand wrenches your arm behind your back.

A litany of curses falls from Dieter's lips.

Feels even better when you can bite your tongue and not say a word.

xx

Bread and water, every day. Rupert sits beside you, Ulbrecht across from him, Dieter across from you. Knives and forks are kept away, like that heals the scars.

You're not even sure how long you've been here.

Ulbrecht at Dieter laugh loudly. Why, you're not really certain. "She was a damn whore, anyway," Dieter is saying, licking his lips.

Rupert makes a noise in the back of his throat. "You're too much of a twat to even try to touch a girl," he says.

"Fuck if you know!"

You do know boys like Dieter, spinning the same yarn over and over again. You've heard it too many times to believe it.

"Oh, I know," Rupert says with a leer. "Why d'you think I'm here?"

Dieter and Ulbrecht shake their heads.

"Why're you here?" you ask to oblige him.

"Raped a girl," he says.

No pause.

Eyes cold and steely. Face set into a smirk.

No flicker of remorse.

You've heard this story before, too.

xx

He doesn't stop unbuttoning his trousers when you walk into the room.

"You too, then."

xx

Coins jangle in Rupert's pocket.

You'd take them, if you thought you'd get away with it.

"Where're those from?"

Hesitation, for a moment. "The guard. Tall one with black hair."

"He gave you money?"

A barking laugh is too loud in your tiny room, bitterness stinging the air. "It's payment."

"For what?"

"They don't have their women around here, do they?"

Realization looks bad on your face.

xx

You're sixteen years old today.

"A man," your uncle would say, pipe in his mouth.

You don't really feel like it.

Everyone hates each other, everyone hates the guards.

You hadn't realized how young you were until you stood next to them. They tower over you like the reformatory itself, and you're shadowed by their shiny boots and neatly combed hair.

You miss being home, where you're a god among men.

(Boys, really.)

xx

"Just got to make them happy," Rupert explains, mouth split into a smirk.

He lounges back on his bed; you nurse a bleeding lip.

"I'm not a little bitch like you."

"That'll change."

His words are full of promise.

Sometimes, you sleep together like brothers, warm under the same itchy blankets, because it's too hard to sleep alone. When your own Heinz was alive, you slept like this on the cold ground.

That was before everything went to hell.

It's like that, sleeping in the cold room, Rupert's arm thrown over your chest.

It always takes you some time to drift off. Rupert talks in his sleep, mumbling for his mama and his sisters.

When you ask, offhand, how Anja's doing these days, your eye shines purple for a week.

xx

One gray morning, like every other gray morning, you find it feels better to have some coins in your pocket, even if you can't get the taste of the guard from your mouth.

The auburn-haired guard stops shoving you into formation as you march around the concrete yard.

Rupert grins.

You scowl.

xx

"There's a new one today," Ulbrecht tells you over bread and water.

It's harder than anything to forget your first day here, but you've managed.

Gabor's voice breaks as he cries out "Animals!"

Honesty, if it even exists anymore.

He'll learn his fancy words and feelings mean nothing here, under the shadow of the reformatory, guards in tall boots.

He'll learn he's alone, even with everyone around him.

He'll shatter like they all have.

He'll forget what it feels like to have a friend, a brother, a mother.

He deserves this, so you laugh and groan, eyes wild.

You've never been a good kid.


End file.
